I have just recently had the pleasure of experiencing one of the items on my bucket list. It was to spend some time in the Australian Outback, far from urban populations and light pollution. To see the night sky at its best and to just be out in nature. I had been warned that the flies could be quite bad as I don’t like them much and on this trip I was informed they were particularly bad.
You certainly can’t beat them and I didn’t want to join them so I decided to write what I hope is an humorous poem about them.
The Aussie Bush Fly or (Instruments of Torture)
The Australian Bush
is a wonderful place.
Atmospheric and peaceful
a wide open space.
Nothing around
for many a mile.
A landscape that’s bleak,
yet, you can’t help but smile.
A great place to camp,
to stay overnight.
Feast your eyes on the stars,
all shiny and bright.
You wake in the morning
and open your eyes
Unzip your tent
and you’re met by the flies.
Your very own cloud
wraps round your head.
And wherever you go
They’re happily led.
You walk for miles
and agreeably they stay,
in flying formation,
just two inches away.
They land on your lips,
Your eyes and your nose.
Sing in your ears
Or head south to your toes.
There’s naught in the bush
For them to do.
No faeces to eat,
instead they eat you.
There vigour is boundless,
it lasts through the day.
A wafted hand
can’t keep them away.
Instruments of torture
that recycle the dead.
Now hide in the bush
and aim for your head.
If I had my way
to quieten their sound.
I’d pluck off their wings,
make them walk on the ground.
Bring peace to the airspace.
Have less need for cork.
And instead of the fly
I’d call them the walk.